Tiramisu for Breakfast

On Saturday evening, my husband, Studly Doright, took me to dine at one of his favorite Italian restaurants in Tallahassee, namely Riccardo’s. He and his office staff eat there at lunch fairly often, and even though Studly isn’t crazy about Italian food he likes Riccardo’s.

The restaurant was packed when we got there. A family with three small, tired, and cranky children was seated before us, thankfully across the room from where we ended up. Don’t get me wrong, I love kids, but when I’m enjoying a date night with Studly I’d rather not have my meal be punctuated with whining and tears.

We decided fairly quickly what we wanted to order, but by some quirk of fate we had to share our waiter with the aforementioned family of five. After pinning down their drink orders he finally made it to our table. Studly and I didn’t waste any time. We knew exactly what we wanted: A caprese salad and a glass of wine for me, and a pepperoni, onion, and pineapple pizza for him, with a half order of bread for us to share.

To make a long story short, our bread never arrived, and Studly’s pizza was delivered sans pepperoni. Our waiter never checked to see if we needed more to drink (neither of us did, but that’s beside the point). In lieu of bread to go with my salad I nibbled on one of Studly’s pineapple and onion pizza slices. It was decent, but I’m a fan of a less sweet sauce.

When we finally got our waiter’s attention we told him about the missing bread and the pizza faux pas. He was contrite, but I think the family of five had him totally flustered. And honestly, we probably had a much healthier meal without the bread and pepperoni.

As an apology he brought a slice of tiramisu over with our check, and with that move the healthy aspect to the meal flew right out the window. Boom. I did limit myself to half of the slice, saving the other half for breakfast. It doesn’t look like much now, but trust me, it was delicious. See, even a healthy cloud might have a tiramisu lining.

Peace, people.

Chef’s Choice

After Studly Doright’s round of golf yesterday and my round of garage sale foraging we both returned home to Doright Manor and took well-deserved naps. Actually, I’m not sure I’d done anything to merit such a good nap, but I enjoyed one anyway.

Studly awakened before me and went out to do some work in his shop. Apparently I had been snoring too loudly for him to continue sleeping. I am woman, hear me roar!

After he came back into the house Studly took a shower and then harassed me until I woke up. He wanted to go into Tallahassee for Italian food, so I wiped the drool off of my chin, the sleep out of my eyes, and tried to make myself presentable for dinner out.

We went to Riccardo’s for dinner. I’d never been before, but Studly and his workmates eat there fairly often. The place was packed on a Saturday night, but we got a table and ordered fairly quickly. I ordered a caprese salad and a glass of wine, but Studly ordered a pepperoni pizza with pineapples and onion.

After the waiter left to turn in our orders Studly told me about a time he’d been in Orlando on business, and he stopped in at a small pizzeria on his way back to his hotel after work.

He said, “I ordered the same thing I did tonight: pepperoni with onions and pineapple. The waiter frowned and said he didn’t know if they even had pineapple, but he’d check. After a few minutes the waiter came back to my table and said, ‘Sir, I’m sorry. We do have pineapple, but the chef said that’s a horrible combination and he refuses to make it.'”

I was kind of shocked. Wouldn’t one go with the theory that the customer is always right? Shouldn’t the chef have made the pizza as requested?

Now, I know that pineapple on pizza is controversial. I’m a fan, but apparently not everyone is. What say you? Yay or nay on the pineapple? This is a matter of great importance.

Odd Girl Out

Odd Girl Out

I’m well aware that social niceties aren’t always in my repertoire

My pinky doesn’t crook just right when I sip red wine through a plastic straw

My language isn’t ladylike, and I’m far too fond of bawdy humor

And any talk of my good graces are seldom more than just a rumor

Polite company eschews my presence

Seems I’ve never learned my lessons

I can’t behave, cannot sublimate all the crazy ideas running willy nilly through this brain.

Everything lost; nothing to gain.

I wrote this whilst listening to Freebird in a funky downtown pizza shop.

https://g.co/kgs/H3PWAF

Chicago, Here I Come!

I’m flying to Chicago out of Panama City Beach on Friday afternoon. Once in the Windy City I’ll meet up with my daughter and our middle granddaughter for a weekend of shopping, dining, and Les Misérables-ing.

In preparation for the trip I’ve been listening to the Les Misérables soundtrack, because one never knows when they’ll need someone to fill in for a cast member. I probably don’t look much like Jean Valjean, but I could sing his part in a pinch. And Cosette’s role? I’m ready to don her dress and belt out her lyrics. Just in case.

My tastebuds are already anticipating a Chicago-style pizza, as I recall the ghosts of pizzas past. There’s simply nothing better than a deep dish pepperoni. Mmmmm. Can you smell it? I can. Now all I have to do is convince my daughter and her daughter that we need to head downtown for dinner Friday night!

Of course, Friday will be my daughter’s thirty-somethingth birthday. I’ll let her choose dinner on Friday, but Saturday is pizza for sure. Am I excited? Duh!!! And the best part? Getting to see my family! I’m packed and ready. Let the party begin.

Craving Pizza

If pizza were a man, I’d have married it. 

Do you, Leslie, take this Pepperoni with onions and pineapple, for greasy or not, through thick and thin crust, with marinara or Alfredo, ’til high cholesterol do you part?

I do.

You may eat the groom.   

I saw a tshirt today that read, 

Can’t get out of bed.
Send help and pizza.
Or just send pizza
.

Bravo. Bravo. Now if we could do something about those pesky calories.

  

Peace, people.